


the gates of hell have opened and you are my plus one

by societysgot



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Harry is a Little Shit, basically hassandra working together, but i lowkey love it bc corporate hassandra is a concept, cassandra is her smart driven self, flashbacks to their high school relationship, heavily HEAVILY inspired by veep, in politics bc we know these bitches love to argue, kind of a mess, more explicitly dan & amy from veep, oh also sexual tension yeaaah, some lines are taken from the show, what are these tags good god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/societysgot/pseuds/societysgot
Summary: “What do you think of Harry Bingham?”“Oh, Harry is a shit,” Cassandra said, without missing a beat.The Vice President raised her eyebrows. “Would you care to expand on that?”“Oh sure. He’s a massive and total shit.”—or a corporate au in which harry and cassandra work together.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Cassandra Pressman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	the gates of hell have opened and you are my plus one

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiii!! 
> 
> okay i don't really know what this is, it kinda of just happened. i started this show called 'veep', got mildly obsessed with it and quickly realised one of the main couples in the show (dan and amy) are literally EXACTLY like hassandra except as adults. like hassandra in 10 years. 
> 
> i also really wanted a corporate hassandra fic so i thought, why the hell not! and just to clarify, yes, cassandra is the chief-of-staff to a fictional vice president (based on the one in veep) and harry ends up being employed by her. anyways, i really hope you enjoy this mess of a work!!
> 
> any kudos / comments would be greatly appreciated <3

She heard him before she saw him. 

From a few metres away.

She would recognise that loud arrogant laugh anywhere — the same one she’d had to endure all through high school. He hadn’t changed one bit. And the sound alone was enough to make her fists clench. 

Because of all the people in his team, of course, Harry Bingham was the person assigned to help them with their new government initiative. Of  _fucking_ course. The blonde let out a frustrated sigh. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t see each other around. Ever since he started working for Senator Hallows a year or two ago, it was like trying to escape the fucking plague. He was literally everywhere. 

And she was the Chief of Staff to Melissa Davidson aka the Vice President of the United States, so avoiding him was simply unavoidable. Unfortunately. 

At functions and fundraisers and events — there he was, sporting whatever expensive suit he had gotten ironed and pressed for the occasion, a glass of some alcoholic beverage always present in hand. 

They shared words every now and again too — he would tell her about the new girl he was sleeping with to advance his career, she would shake her head in disgust and tell him he had sunk to new lows. He would talk to her about her job and about how pulling the strings for the second most powerful woman in the world was giving her wrinkles and she would resist the urge to slap him. 

(But then sometimes, he would lower his voice and make a comment about how she looked really good, and she would try to act like a stupid little compliment from him couldn’t affect her after all this time — but it did. It always did).

Even with all that said, there was only so much  _Harry Bingham_ one could take. Seeing him every few months for a juicy three minute conversation was more than enough for her.  _This_ , she was sure of. 

It was only when her boss began taking an interest in him after their meeting, that the blonde had started to get concerned. 

The Vice President let out a sigh beside her, as the limo drove swiftly out of the EEOB. Cassandra was typing quickly next to her, eyes glued to her phone as she checked for updates on the media’s response to their recent Morning Show interview. She felt Melissa turn to her, lowering her glasses slightly. 

“So, what do you think of Harry Bingham?” 

“Oh, Harry is a shit,” Cassandra said, without missing a beat. 

The Vice President raised her eyebrows. “Would you care to expand on that?”

“Oh sure. He’s a massive and total shit.”

* * *

He was hired the same day.

Much to Cassandra’s dismay and despite her desperate attempts to persuade her boss that this was not the smart career move she thought it was.

“You just hired the biggest bastard in DC, ma’am,” Cassandra had said, trailing behind her as they made their way to another briefing, “I’m sorry, but the only person he cares about is himself.”

“He got me intel, Cassandra,” Melissa retorted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “He’s the reason we got the Clean Jobs initiative through the door.”

“Yeah, and he did that by betraying his own boss?” The blonde pleaded, “What does that tell you about his loyalty?”

“That he’s loyal to me and to this office,” The Vice President said with a tone of finality, and Cassandra bit her tongue to stop herself from speaking.

She knew a lost cause when she saw one. 

But that didn’t stop her frown from appearing the minute Harry Bingham set foot in their office the following Monday — strutting in like he owned the place. He was infuriatingly charming as he made his way through the room, greeting everyone like they were his fucking fanclub. Christ. 

And to make matters worse, he looked really,  _really_ good in that suit. 

Fuck.

Not that she would ever in her right mind tell him that. In fact, she barely said a word to him the first couple days. Every time she saw him and that stupid smug smile, she had this urge to slap it right off his face.

They spoke properly on the third day. He had snuck up on her at the coffee machine and she nearly spilt hot coffee all over herself. Cursing loudly, she snatched up her cup and moved away from him, just as he put his hands up defensively. 

“Woah, look, I’m sorry that my arrival here has caused you to get all flustered and you know, cause your hair to start falling out,” He called, over her shoulder, with a laugh.

She gave him the finger before turning on her heel, and stepping into the VP’s office, slamming the door unnecessarily in his face, just to see his reaction.

But slamming doors in his face, outright ignoring him and avoiding him at all costs was a lot easier said than done — when most of their work required a group effort. And unfortunately that group now included Harry Bingham.

“You’re horrible, I hope you know that,” She said, through gritted teeth after yet another meeting where Harry’s lack of morals and basic empathy, had managed to somehow save the day. 

He let out a laugh, clearly amused at how easily he could annoy her.

“Why are you smiling? You’re literally the  _worst_ ,” She seethed, “I feel like you’re this close to striking a match and setting this whole campaign on fire — it’s like, I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“Come on, Cass,” He said, with a smirk, “Don’t be like that, I thought we agreed to move on.”

She let out a loud scoff at that, as he fell instep beside her. The nerve of him. For fuck’s sake. 

“Move on from what? We dated for like a  _month_ in highschool — it was like getting over mild food poisoning.” 

He looked mildly amused by the analogy, before they continued on.

And in that moment, Cassandra praised the lord that she was a good liar. 

* * *

The word  _dated_ was probably a bit of a stretch. They didn’t exactly  _date_ .

But they did spend an entire summer together between junior and senior year. 

Cassandra had been staying with her grandparents in Monterey for the summer break, while her parents took Allie to Ohio for a hockey tournament, and by a stroke of luck (or misfortune, as she later recalled it), Harry happened to be there too. His family always vacationed there apparently — in that mansion of theirs that was far too large for a family of only four people. 

She had run into him at a party, down on the South Wharf — one that her grandparents had forced her to go to, just so she would get out of the house and give them some alone time.

It was one of those rare occasions where Cassandra had let her hair down. She wasn’t quite drunk — just a little buzzed, standing near the pool table in a pale green button-down dress. The breeze was warm, and the blue orange sky was quickly fading to black behind them. 

He had made a b-line for her the moment they locked eyes — his greeting far from amicable. More like an interrogation.  _What the hell are you doing here? How did you get into this party? Why are you even inMonterey?_ — As if he owned the fucking beach. 

_Rich prick_ ,  she’d thought as she explained to him that her grandparents owned a house further down the street and that she was in fact, allowed to be there. 

He had laughed at that, and then joked that she was stalking him. And in turn, she elbowed him in the stomach, before downing her drink on the spot. 

Somehow, amongst all the back and forth and the bickering, he had shouted her drink. And then another. And then another.

And then, the strangest thing happened. 

He started to flirt with her.

Like,  _really_ flirt. 

Like, they weren’t each other’s worst fucking nightmare at school. Turning on that  _high-school-rich-boy-charm_ — the type of charm he seemed to reserve for every other girl at their school except her. 

And the worst part was, she  _liked_ it. 

She hated to admit it, but when he wasn’t being an arrogant shit-stain, she almost enjoyed his company. This wasn’t like their usual class arguments or tiresome debate meets or their almost-descent-into-world-war-three during the Student Body President election campaigns. 

He was  _different_ in Monterey. She could see it in his eyes, when the façade fell — when he was no longer trying so hard to be the jackass everyone knew him to be. And she felt her own façade falling too, as a result.

She was laughing freely and so was he, smiling his genuine smile for once — not that shit-eating fake one that so often graced his features nowadays. 

And next thing she knew, he was pulling her down a hallway into a bathroom on the second level, and as soon as the door had slammed shut behind them, she was already pushing him up against it, kissing him hard and fast.

The remainder of the summer went a lot like that. They spent most days in each other’s company, slipping into an easy rhythm. He would say something mindless to tick her off, she would fire back and somewhere along the way they would fall into bed together — because they were  _Harry and Cassandra_ and that’s just what they did. Apparently. 

_And_ maybe because there were only so many times Harry Bingham would willingly fuck in a bathroom stall. 

(“It’s kind of gross in here” He’d said the third time, with her pinned against the wall opposite, her skirt hitched up around her hips, as he left sloppy kisses down her chest.

“Less talking, more fucking,” She’d replied, cutting him off with a chaste kiss and pulling at the buckle on his jeans.)

But it wasn’t all just sex. 

Sometimes, she thought it might’ve been easier if it had been. If she could just forget the rest. 

Because sometimes, it was  _nice_ . 

Waking up next to him was nice, (despite the many,  _many_ hangovers). The rays of sunlight falling down upon his regal cheekbones, as his face curved into a smile. His teasing look when he caught her staring at him as he slept that one time, before he peppered kisses all over her face, and they laughed like children for what felt like hours. 

On some days, they even took long walks on the beach. Real  _couple_ shit. He’d slip his hand in hers as they went, walking and talking as the ripples of waves washed over their ankles — the two of them acting like this was something they did. 

Like,  _they_ were something.

She still didn’t know what they were.

But when his eyes caught the light and she saw the way he stared at her every now and then, it made her seventeen year old heart giddy. 

She had been so naive back then. It was pathetic really — especially given what went down as August faded into September and the heat began to die down. 

That summer was the closest she ever got to believing Harry wasn’t the actual antichrist.

Unfortunately, that was short lived. 

* * *

Harry had been working for Melissa’s administrations for several months now.  And Cassandra still sort of wanted to murder him, like every single day. But she couldn’t deny that they made a pretty good team. Sometimes. 

Sure, they drove each other up the wall most days, but when they managed to successfully put their egos aside — they were like  _magic_ . 

He matched her in ambition and drive unlike anybody she’d ever met — and she worked in politics — so that was truly saying something. 

It would probably scare her if she couldn’t read him like a damn book. He was so predictable. But she was beginning to think that he could read her too though. And she didn’t know how to feel about that. 

The following months passed with an almost ease (okay, maybe a bit of a overstatement) — but no matter what media shitstorm the Vice President had got them into which ever week, they always seemed to pull through — piggybacking off each other’s successes, and blaming the other when things went south. It was like clockwork.

Though, spending all this time with him did make her fear that his malevolence was rubbing off on her. 

“That was cold,” He was saying one afternoon, after witnessing her use his own style of manipulation to win over some lobbyists from Indiana, “Also, kinda hot.” 

The blonde had rolled her eyes at him as she walked away, ignoring the slight jump in her heart rate. It happened around him sometimes, even though she desperately tried to ignore it. She wasn’t a fucking high school girl anymore. And she was pretty sure he was still screwing the daughter of Senator Hallows anyway —  _not_ that she cared . 

“So, you wanna grab a bite after the event tonight? Go over the Helsinki agreement,” Harry asked casually, a few weeks later. 

He was sitting lazily at his desk, as if they didn’t have a mountain of work to get through in the next hour. 

The blonde shifted on the spot, a small grin etched on her face. “I can’t. I’m bringing a date.”

Harry let out a loud laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah right.”

She stared back at him, her expression unchanged. 

“Wait, really?” His interest suddenly peaking, “Who’s the guy?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to respond, but their coworker Helena chimed in before she could say a word.

“Gordie Moreno. He’s one of the fundraisers for the party,” She said, matter-a-factly without looking up from her computer, “He’s worked for Melissa for like five years.”

Cassandra shot her a glare before turning back to Harry, who was now frowning. 

“You said you would only date guys outside DC,” He said, almost accusingly, and Cassandra raised her eyebrows at him.

“Well, technically, he works in Boston.”

“Well, my mom doesn’t live in Rome, but  _technically_ she’s still a Catholic.” 

“You getting worked up over there, Harold?” Marcus, one of their other colleagues from the West Wing, piped up. 

“Shut the fuck up, Marcus,” Harry muttered quietly with a hint of bitterness, effectively ending the conversation there.

Going to the fundraiser with Gordie had been something they had planned several weeks ago. And the blonde had almost been excited about it. But when the time came, she was almost regretting bringing a date at all. 

And it had  nothing at all to do with Harry’s strange behaviour earlier, and all to do with the fact that she had to keep an eye on Melissa and the rest of the team before they had to do damage control for yet another fuck-up (the woman was accident prone, so someone needed to stay alert — that's why Cassandra never drank more than a few sips of champagne at these things). 

The music was loud — louder than the music at most of the mundane events that Cassandra spent way too much time at. She had her phone in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Gordie standing patiently beside her, trying to engage in conversation. But the Vice President’s new energy bill legislation hadn’t been sorted out yet, so that phone wouldn’t be leaving her hand for a long while yet. 

Gordie was half way through explaining a new reform his boss had been working on, (with Cassandra only half listening), when Marcus sidled up to them. Marcus was about a foot taller than everyone else in the office and somehow managed to annoy everyone around him merely by existing.

And seeing Cassandra with a date seemed to be incredibly amusing to him for some reason. He was gawking at them like a five year old, the blonde letting out a sigh of disgust as she avoided his eye line.

“By the way, I love how much you guys being here together is fucking with Harry,” He said, pointing between the two of them with a laugh.

Cassandra’s head finally snapped up, her eyes leaving her phone for the first time in several minutes. Gordie was looking at her, confusion etched across his features. Marcus coughed loudly, before stepping closer.

“Yeah, you know, Harry and Cassandra used to date, right?” He said, slurping on his drink obnoxiously and gauging Gordie’s reaction, “In high school — or wait, was it college?”

The blonde gritted her teeth, frustratedly. “Thanks for that background check, Marcus.” 

* * *

Again.  _Date d _ was not the right word. 

But they had both gotten into Yale. Of course. And they had steadfastly avoided each other most of the time, which was impressive considering they were studying the same course, had the same major and wanted the same career. Miraculous, really.

They ran in different circles — Cassandra spending most of her time in the library with a bunch of other overachieving losers — losing sleep over whatever new report or assignment they had to submit, knowing full well they wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a top score. 

Harry on the other hand, was out getting drunk and getting laid, with a new girl every other night, living it up in whatever Delta-Fucking-Cappa sorority was throwing a party — and yet somehow he still managed to maintain somewhat decent grades. Which he taunted her about often, just like he used to in high school. Cassandra couldn’t help but despise him for that. 

And she wasn’t afraid to make her thoughts known to him. At parties. At functions. At study meets (the ones he actually attended). On a whole number of occasions. 

And on said occasions, she may or may not have wound up in his bed the next day. 

“Fuck me,” She had whispered on one of those particular mornings, her head throbbing incessantly as she tried to sit up.

The light creeping through the small crack in the curtain was enough to blind her, as she attempted to untangle herself from the sheets. 

“Already did that,” A low voice grumbled from beside her. 

The blonde groaned internally, before grabbing her pillow and hitting him in the face with it. 

* * *

However, the important thing to remember was, that all of this happened years ago.  _They_ happened years ago. Whatever  _they_ were. Cassandra was the Chief of Staff to the fucking Vice President for crying out loud. She was a professional. She didn’t do  _that_ anymore. 

And there was no way in hell, that she was _ever_ going to sleep with Harry Bingham again. Ever. 

* * *

Okay, well, she would at least  _try_ not to.

But with that said, being in Harry Bingham’s general orbit every minute of every day made all of this a lot more difficult. 

And Cassandra knew herself pretty well.

She knew her flaws and her strong suits. She knew that she liked a challenge — that she liked to argue. She knew she dated assholes and fucked assholes because they challenged her and that in turn, made her  feel something. As fucked up as that was. She knew that it wasn’t productive or effective, and that every single time it resulted in them leaving, and her picking up all the pieces they left behind. But that was just how it was.

She also knew that Harry was the  _rule_ not the  _exception_ — but Cassandra was prone to repeating her mistakes. And in truth, she had never been very good at staying away from  him . 

Perhaps, she knew that they could only circle each other for so long — and considering Gordie was no longer in the picture (that spark had fizzled out pretty quickly after he realised she was practically married to her job), a part of her knew she was just delaying the inevitable. And perhaps he knew that too. 

So, one chilly night in November, when the last of their colleagues had left the office, leaving the two of them alone, she didn’t bother to kick him out. It was nearly 12am, which wasn’t an uncommon time for them to finish up.  _The nation never sleeps_ , she often thought, tiredly. Empty takeout containers lay splayed around them, as they joined forces in an effort to come up with an entire rewrite of the Vice President’s Filibuster reform speech that she was set to give tomorrow. 

And Cassandra, couldn’t help but notice that he had somehow crawled into her personal space. Again. And some sick part of her was enjoying it. Fucking hell. 

He was mere inches away, leaning over her to pencil in changes to the last lot of cue cards. She shook her head at one of his latest additions, pulling the pencil straight out of his hand and writing directly over his words. 

She felt him let out a frustrated sigh beside her, his breathe low and hot in her ear as she turned around. And when she raised her eyebrows in challenge, he wasted no time pushing her up against the desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

But the words left her light and breathy — without the accusatory tone she had intended, as his hand skated up her thigh and she didn’t know whether to kiss him or strangle him. 

“Come on, Cass,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her collar bone before his dark eyes met hers, and  _goddamit_ if he wasn’t the most beautiful prick she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

“I...”

He leaned forward, his curls falling into his face as his dark eyes bore into her own. She tilted her head to the side, letting his scent — that  stupid _rich boy_ cologne  he always wore — wash over her before, she realised she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Oh, fuck it.”

Her grip fastened around his tie and she yanked him closer. Their lips met in a collision of tongues and mouths, for even there they fought for dominance. Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt, as he leaned closer, using his knee almost casually to part her legs as far as her pencil skirt would allow. 

“If you rip this skirt, you’re as good as dead,” The blonde muttered against his mouth, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Harry let out a laugh, hands sliding under her cotton shirt as he left a trail of wet kisses down her neck.

“Duly noted.”

* * *

“I still think you’re an ass,” Cassandra breathed, her head falling back against the wall, just as he let her finish. 

It had been nearly a month since he had fucked her senseless against her desk in the office, and since she in turn, had vowed that it would never happen again. And yet here they were — crammed together in some storage closet on the second floor of the EEOB — for the third time that week, she might add.

_ Yes _ , she was completely fucked (metaphorically and literally) and she knew it. Fuck. 

Harry raised his head out from between her legs, panting slightly as he flattened her skirt back down again. His tangled curls were in disarray, as he licked his lips and smirked up at her. The blonde let out a huff.

“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea — and start thinking this means I like you, or something.” 

“Now, where would I get that idea?” He said, trailing a hand back up her thigh, causing her to shudder.

She lightly shoved him away, buttoning up her blouse as quickly as she could, trying to pull herself together. 

(But if he would stop looking at her like  _that_ , that would be great.)

”You can't tell anyone about this, okay?” 

He was pulling his jacket slowly back over his shoulders, an amused smile gracing his features. He leaned forward, pressing a long hard kiss to her lips, almost taking her by surprise. The blonde felt a flush return to her cheeks as she straightened up again — holding her breath as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” He said, with a wink before leaving the room.

* * *

The first time he sent her a dirty text was in the limo leaving the EEOB, with the Vice President sitting to her left. The blonde had let out a strangled gasp before desperately trying to disguise it as a coughing fit. She cleared her throat loudly, before shooting daggers at Harry who was sitting opposite — that stupid smirk ever-present on his lips.

The text was nothing too incriminating — just some annoying comment about how he knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. 

Which unfortunately was true. And which was  _entirely_ his fault. 

He had broken her strap that morning, after he’d dragged her into a staff bathroom only a few doors down from their office.

(“Did you — seriously fucking break my bra strap? Are you kidding me?” Cassandra snapped breathlessly, pulling his hair harder in retribution.

He let out a deep guttural groan at that, his head falling onto her shoulder. She could feel his damp curls brush against her cheek as his body slackened. He pulled out of her, and ran a hand lazily down her chest, before kissing the marked skin — right where the strap had snapped.

“Calm down, Pressman. It’s not like anyone will notice.”

_You’d notice_ ,  she almost said but stopped herself just in time. Instead, she just glared at him.)

And she couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of déjà vu — thinking back to the first time in that dingy bathroom stall on the South Wharf in Monterey. Nearly nine years ago. 

_ Old habits die hard _ , she guessed. Good god.

* * *

Then, he started sleeping over. Not every night. But often. It almost became their routine. 

They would both stay back at work fixing whatever mistake Melissa had made(there was usually a new one every fucking day), pick up take-away from their favourite Japanese restaurant (the one they both liked because it reminded them of the one in West Ham — he even had her order memorised now) and then, he would drive them to Cassandra’s apartment where they would spend the remainder of the night (because she wouldn’t be caught dead doing the walk of shame from Harry’s mancave of an apartment). 

But the takeaway and their piles of notes often lay abandoned on the coffee table not long after, accumulating dust with the rest of the furniture in her house, as they made their way to her bedroom — the only room that seemed to get any use.

Then, they would hitch a ride to work together the next day and start the circus that was running Melissa’s administration for her, all over again. A ruthless yet rewarding cycle.

It sometimes made her think back to when her and Harry were fighting tooth and nail for the Student Council Presidency back in high school. She wondered if they ever thought their lives would turn out quite like this: the two of them actually working together — side by side — _finally_ , on the same team. 

It was almost amusing, really. That she spent nearly all of her time with a man she claimed to despise so much. 

And it wasn’t like he didn’t still drive her fucking crazy most of the time. Because he did. For sure, he did. 

And yes, maybe if he wasn’t so infuriatingly good in bed — or on the couch, or against the sink or in a storage closet —  _Jesus Christ_ — then, she wouldn’t be thinking about this at all. 

But the truth of the matter was that at this point, she didn’t know life without him. And maybe she didn’t want to anymore. 

And  _that_ was truly fucked up. 


End file.
